


Tender Loving Care

by accordingtomel



Category: Drew Carey's Improv-A-Ganza RPF, Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accordingtomel/pseuds/accordingtomel
Summary: Based on the following prompt: Sick!Fic with either Colin/Ryan, Chip/Jeff or Greg/Jeff, with either Ryan or Jeff as the sick-ees and Colin, Chip, or Greg as the caretaker for the respective partner. Either one pairing or two with the caretakers commiserating with each other.





	Tender Loving Care

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in August of 2011 on my LJ.
> 
>  **Original A/N:** Yet another prompt fill for the Whose-a-Thon challenge over at [wl_fanfiction](http://wl-fanfiction.livejournal.com/). Sorry that I only included one pairing. One of these days, I’ll write something else, I promise! Anyway, continued thanks to the amazing adelagia for whipping this into shape so quickly, and for being completely unhelpful regarding the pet names (LOL!). Also, I have to say a huge thank you to everyone for always being so kind :). This fandom is amazing!

Chip glances down at his watch, waiting impatiently for the other passengers to exit the plane. He's just arrived in LA on a flight from Vancouver after filming two episodes of a new TV show that he’ll hopefully have a recurring role on. Usually Chip tries to sit towards the front of the plane, but in his excitement over the show and heading home, he forgot to check in early and ended up with crappy seats at the back of the plane.

With nothing else to do, Chip powers his phone back on to check his messages while he waits. There are two voice mail messages – one from his agent about the gig, and one from Patty, confirming that he’s still taking the kids for an extra night next week. He makes a mental note to phone his agent in the morning, then gives Patty a quick call to confirm that he’ll have the kids next Thursday.

Once that’s finished, Chip scrolls through his text messages, and is mildly alarmed to see that his and Jeff’s friend Dan has sent him multiple texts over the past couple of hours. The series of texts gets increasingly irritated, though admittedly, also more amusing for Chip:

_jeff’s still sick and won’t shut up about it. just so you know._

_he’s sending me text after text, outlining all the ways in which he’s dying in unnecessarily graphic detail._

_i’ve received 42 messages from him in the last hour, chip. 42! 1/2 are complaints and the other 1/2 are about you._

_i’m supposed to go out tonight with erin. he won’t shut up, claiming he’s sick, dying & lonely. i’m starting to get homicidal._

Chip laughs softly as he rereads the very last text he received: _esten, where the fuck are you? i swear to god i’m gonna kill him soon. please do something!_

He sends a quick reply off to Dan, assuring him that he’ll take care of the situation and that there’s no need to resort to violence.

Eventually, Chip is able to get off the plane. The only bonus to having to wait is that by the time he makes it to the baggage conveyor belt, the luggage is already circling around. He quickly locates his suitcase, then pushes through a mob of people to hail down a taxi. Thankfully LAX isn’t quite as insane as it usually is, and the whole process takes far less time than anticipated. He tells the cab driver the address and settles back against the seat, feeling incredibly worn out all of a sudden.

“You from here, or just visiting?” the cab driver asks Chip after a few minutes, glancing at him through the rear-view mirror.

He smiles. “I’m from LA, yeah. Heading home now.”

The cab driver nods. “Have you been away for a long time?”

“Long enough,” Chip says. It’s felt like a near eternity sometimes, even though it’s only been less than two weeks. These days, he finds it harder and harder to be away for any length of time, even though he used to be gone for weeks at a time on a regular basis. Chip is just glad to be home, finally.

“You have someone special waiting for you?” the cab driver asks. It’s a fairly personal question, but it’s obvious that the man is just trying to make polite conversation. Plus, it helps pass the time, so Chip doesn’t really mind.

“Yeah, I do,” he answers, smiling softly as he thinks of home.

“Then you must be very fortunate indeed.”

“I like to think I am,” Chip says, catching the cabbie’s eye in the mirror.

When they finally arrive, Chip tips the cab driver well and wishes him a good evening. It takes a few minutes for him to find his keys, but eventually locates them deep within one of the pockets of his suitcase.

Chip stumbles through the doorway and tosses his suitcase and carry-on bag to the floor. For a moment, he considers calling out an announcement that he’s home, but then remembers Dan’s texts and decides against it.

There is the distinct sound of a television coming from the bedroom, so Chip follows the noise. He pushes open the partially ajar door to find the sickest-looking Jeff he has ever seen, wrapped up in more pillows and blankets than seems possible to have on one bed. His skin is pale, nose bright red, and eyes puffy and swollen. His dark hair is flat, matted to his forehead without the typical hair gel to keep it styled. Two boxes of tissue sit on the nightstand, with the bathroom garbage can nestled between the bed and the nightstand. Chip doesn’t need to look any closer to know that it’s full of used tissues. A bottle of hand sanitizer, a tall glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen make up the rest of the items on the nightstand.

Despite the obvious discomfort Jeff is in, his face immediately brightens the moment Chip steps into the room.

“Hey, babe, I’m home,” Chip says, making his way across the room, over to the bed.

“Chip! I thought you’d never get home,” Jeff says, grinning happily, gripping his cell phone firmly in his right hand. But the second Chip makes it to the end of the bed, Jeff throws both hands up, waving them frantically. “Wait! Don’t get too close. I’m sick!”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t care.”

In spite of Jeff’s protests, Chip perches on the bed beside Jeff and reaches over to brush the hair away from his face. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to Jeff’s forehead, hands framing his face. It’s only in this moment that he realizes just how much he’s missed Jeff in the past couple of weeks.

Something on the TV catches his ear, and Chip turns to glance at the screen behind them. He nearly falls over when he sees what program is playing.

“ _Jersey Shore_ , Jeff? _Really_?”

“God, no,” Jeff’s hand suddenly closes around Chip’s wrist, gripping it like a vise, and Chip returns his attention fully to Jeff. “I was changing the channels and I dropped the remote. I nearly fell out of bed trying to find it, but I don’t know where it went. It hurts to move. I considered throwing something at the TV to try and change the channel, but I didn’t want to break it. Please save me!”

The look of horror on his face is damn near the most adorably comical sight he’s ever seen, and Chip tries unsuccessfully to bite back a laugh.

“This isn’t funny,” Jeff says with a groan, pouting like a small child.

“You have to admit that it’s a little funny,” Chip says. A bubble of laughter escapes past his lips, and he tries to cover it up as a cough instead, even though he knows Jeff isn’t falling for it. _Jersey Shore_ is the epitome of virtually everything Jeff loathes, so it’s nothing short of hilarious to Chip that he’s been stuck watching it for however long it’s been on the TV.

“Just help me,” he practically begs, and Chip sort of wants to hug him.

“All right, all right, I’m on it, don’t worry,” Chip reassures him. He walks over to the TV and changes the channel to some jazz music station, then gets down on the floor to find the remote. A few moments later, he emerges victorious.

“There you go, problem solved.” He holds out the remote control, and Jeff takes it from his hand, smiling gratefully.

“Thank you so much, Chip. You’ve just saved my life.”

Glancing down at the cell phone he’s still holding, Chip decides to perform a double life-saving mission this evening. “Dan seems pretty close to killing you too, so you might want to stop texting him now that I’m home.”

Jeff face scrunches up in annoyance. “Bah! He’s been no help whatsoever. Lousy, good-for-nothing friend.”

“Yeah, well, be that as it may, if he’s texting me about it, then you know it’s gotta be bad. So I’d highly recommend keeping those hands away from your phone for a while.”

A sigh escapes past Jeff’s lips. “Yeah, okay. Sorry for pissing Dan off so much that he felt the need to text you about it, but thanks for the heads up.”

Chip smirks. “Any time. Now, how are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Jeff says. “I can’t remember the last time I had a cold this bad.” And then, as if to demonstrate the point, he is hit with a huge sneezing and coughing fit that lasts for several minutes.

Without even thinking, Chip finds himself rubbing Jeff’s back through the whole thing, handing him the glass of water still sitting on the nightstand when the fit finally subsides. Jeff’s accused him of being over-protective before, and probably with good reason, but today he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it.

“I can see that.” Chip pats his thigh through the thick layers of blankets, smiling sympathetically at him. “Have you had anything to eat recently?”

“What do you consider recent?” Jeff asks.

“Within the last couple of hours.”

“Then, no.”

“Please tell me you’ve at least eaten _something_ today?”

“Um...”

For all that Jeff works to take care of himself – eating well, exercising regularly, and always ensuring that he looks his best – he is truly awful at caring for himself when he’s sick. Even before they started dating, back when they were on tour, Chip was always the one who ended up taking care of Jeff when he came down with the flu or a cold.

“Jeff, honestly. You can’t have spent all day in bed.”

“I’m sick,” is Jeff’s only response. He sounds truly pitiful.

“Yeah, well you’re not going to get better by not eating.” Chip stands up, making a decision. “Why don’t you take a hot bath? It’ll make you feel better. While you’re in there, I’ll heat up some soup for you, okay?”

There is a skeptical look on Jeff’s face, but Chip is having none of that tonight, nor is he going to permit Jeff to get out of any of this.

“No fighting me on this. I’ll go run your bath for you.”

Just as he’s turning towards the bathroom, Jeff speaks up. “I’m not a child, Chip. I can run my own bath.”

Chip tries not to roll his eyes. “Like you got out of bed to change the channel on the TV?”

Jeff’s eyes narrow, and Chip can’t help but laugh at the look of mock annoyance on his face. “Yes, I know that. But just because you _can_ doesn’t mean that you _will_. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of you when you’re sick? Just let me do this for you, okay?”

With some amount of reluctance, Jeff eventually agrees. After about ten minutes, and several extra requests – _’Don’t make the water too hot.’_ ; _‘Can you empty the garbage while I’m in the bath, please? It’s getting really full and I don’t want to spread my germs everywhere’_ ; _‘You might want to sanitize the remote control, and wash your hands, for that matter’_ ; _‘Actually, maybe just change the sheets on the bed too’_ \- Jeff makes it into the tub, finally. It takes a great deal more effort than Chip would’ve expected, which only serves to confirm just how poorly Jeff’s actually feeling.

While Jeff’s homemade vegetable barley soup is warming on the stove, Chip takes a few minutes to unpack some of the essentials from his trip before stripping the bed, taking out the garbage and sanitizing everything on the nightstand (including Jeff’s phone). He has just enough time to throw a load of clothes and sheets into the laundry before the soup is ready. So far, Chip feels like he’s been busier since arriving home than he was while he was gone away on work-related business. He can only imagine the kinds of things Jeff must have been texting Dan all day to elicit the response that it did. Dan rarely texts Chip directly unless there’s a particularly important reason.

Chip warms and butters a biscuit before pouring a large bowl of the soup for Jeff. He places both on the tray they bought one day on a whim before filling up another tall glass of water. Rummaging through the cupboards, Chip also finds a couple multi-vitamins and adds them to the tray.

Jeff is just emerging from the bath when Chip saunters into the bedroom with the food. He has a bit more color now, and smells nice. His still-damp hair sticks up in little tufts on his head, and Chip has to actively fight the urge to go ruffle his hair.

“I can’t smell much yet, but it looks really good, so I assume it tastes and smells good too.”

Rounding the bed, Jeff climbs back in, settling against the mound of pillows Chip left there for him.

“You changed the sheets?”

“Yes.”

“And emptied the garbage?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you sanitize everything?”

“Yes, Jeff.”

“And the kitchen...?”

At this, Chip raises an eyebrow. “What about the kitchen?”

“Did you wash the dishes? The ones you just used, I mean?”

“No, not yet.”

“But, you’re going to, right?”

If it was anyone else, Chip might very well have slapped them for being so ridiculous and anal-retentive. But this is Jeff, and Jeff is, in spite of being one of the sweetest people Chip’s ever known, also one of the most obsessive-compulsive he’s ever met. In addition to counting damn near everything, Jeff is big on both hygiene and cleanliness. None of these things interfere with his ability to live life, but sometimes they have the tendency to drive others up the wall.

“Relax there, big guy. No wonder Dan was sending me SOS texts earlier, if this is how you’ve been all day. I was going to wait until you’d finished eating first, so I don’t waste water. We both know how much that irritates you too,” Chip says, smirking good-naturedly at Jeff as he places the warm food in front of him.

At those words, Jeff ducks his head, smiling shyly, at least having the good sense to appear mildly sheepish, even though Chip doesn’t really care. “I’m sorry. Thank you for everything. Sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably waste away to nothing,” Chip replies. He leans in to press a kiss to Jeff’s temple. “I think I’m going to take a shower while you eat.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Make sure you eat everything,” Chip tosses over his shoulder as he closes the bathroom door.

When Chip emerges from the shower twenty minutes later, he is feeling refreshed and much more comfortable in a pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt. Over at the bed, Jeff looks like he’s about ready to nod off, but as soon as Chip opens the door to the bathroom, his eyes open and he smiles over at Chip. Something warm settles in his chest at the sight, and he’s overcome with affection for Jeff in that moment.

“Did you finish eating everything?” Chip asks, eyeing the tray still sitting across Jeff’s lap.

“Yes, _mother_ ,” he says, gesturing towards the empty plate and bowl.

“Good job.” Chip picks up the tray. “How are you feeling?”

“Still awful. But I’m better now that you’re home.”

“Me too.”

Without another word, Chip carries the tray back out to the kitchen, where he proceeds to wash the few dishes in the sink. It’s something that can wait until morning, but he knows how Jeff can get, sick or not, and decides that even though it’s such a small thing, it’s worth the effort, if it’ll make Jeff feel better. He makes a quick run to the basement to throw the clothes into the dryer before shutting off all the lights and double-checking the locks on the front and back doors.

By the time Chip is ready for bed, Jeff is already sleeping soundly. Every breath he takes sounds labored, like it’s hard to breathe, but he looks peaceful enough, so Chip decides to try and stop worrying so much. He flicks off the light, carefully deposits the TV remote on the nightstand, and plugs in his cell phone before removing his t-shirt and climbing into bed.

Despite his best efforts to be careful, Jeff still startles awake when he accidentally kicks Jeff’s leg.

“Chip?” he whispers softly.

“Yeah, I’m here, baby. Go back to sleep.”

“Come closer,” Jeff says, and then he’s blindly reaching behind him, trying to grab onto Chip.

“Okay, okay, hold on.” Chip shuffles over until he’s pressed up against Jeff’s back, slipping an arm around his waist and burying his face in Jeff’s neck. His hair smells nice from the bath he’d had earlier. “Is that better?”

A moment later, Jeff’s arm and hand cover his own, and he leans back into Chip’s embrace. “Much.”

After a few minutes, Jeff’s breathing slows again, but not enough to signify that he’s falling asleep again.

“I missed you, Chip,” Jeff’s sleepy voice says at long last. “Every day you were gone.”

Chip smiles, brushing his lips against the back of Jeff’s neck. “I missed you too.”

“Not just because you take care of me,” Jeff continues. His voice sounds particularly adorable when he’s both stuffed up and half-asleep, Chip decides. “But also because I love you.”

“I know. I love you too, Jeff.” Chip says. He presses a kiss to the skin just below Jeff’s ear. “Now, you need to sleep.”

“But I want to hear how filming went.”

“Tomorrow,” Chip promises.

As if on cue, Jeff sneezes three times in succession, and Chip has to pull back slightly in order to prevent any potential injuries. Jeff reaches blindly for the box of tissues still at his side, blowing his nose then squirting some hand sanitizer onto his hands before settling back down in the bed. 

“Yeah, okay, tomorrow,” he says eventually. “Good night, Chip.”

Chip slips his arm back around Jeff’s waist, relishing the warmth of his body. “Good night,” he whispers into the dark.


End file.
